


Got Your Back

by Island_of_Reil



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Back fetish, Body Worship, Canon Era, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Guilt, Hand Jobs, Heavy Angst, Implied Mind Rape, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, M/M, Muscles, Spoilers for Chapters 61-62
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-13
Updated: 2014-10-13
Packaged: 2018-02-20 23:28:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2447012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Island_of_Reil/pseuds/Island_of_Reil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“He… they… they put their hands on me. I can still feel their hands on me, Armin. I want to feel your hands instead. And… I don’t know, your mouth too?”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Got Your Back

**Author's Note:**

> [Kinkmeme prompt.](http://snkkink.dreamwidth.org/13546.html?thread=9479402#cmt9479402)

“Oh, God, Armin,” Eren keeps repeating, in a hoarse whisper that gets creakier and creakier until it chokes off in tears, then starts all over again. “I killed him. Oh, God.”

They’re lying together in the tall grass only meters away from yet another cabin in the middle of nowhere. The Survey Corps might not be considered traitors any longer, but Rod Reiss and his minions in the Central MP are after them like demons out of hell, like twenty-five-meter aberrants coming over the horizon. The rest of the military can’t help them; their hands are full with the coup they just pulled. And Commander Smith, rumored to have been ordered to rest after his torture and near-hanging, isn’t there to lead them.

All their comrades are asleep inside except for whoever’s on sentry duty. Armin had gone to sleep indoors, too, but then he woke up with a full bladder and panicked to see Eren gone. He stumbled outside and swayed with relief when he spotted the figure curled up in the grass, but relief immediately gave way to worry. Eren had been nearly catatonic when Mikasa had carried him out of the chapel, blood dripping from her and Levi’s and Hange’s cloaks and sleeves. He was still like that when they got to the cabin. He was still like that when they unbound his hands and pulled a fresh shirt over his head. He was still like that when Armin fell asleep.

But, out in the field, he was crying. Not the loud, raging tears he cried for what the titans had done to the world and to the people he loved. Deep, shuddering, hopeless sobs.

 _Something inside of him is broken,_ Armin thought, and was immediately shocked at the thought. It had come out of nowhere; or, rather, it had come out of the part of his mind that didn’t need to think everything over a hundred times. Then the thinking part of his mind confirmed it, and he felt sick with despair.

After relieving himself, he ran to Eren and dropped to the ground and flung his arms around him. Eren sobbed against Armin until he could speak, then told him everything, then sobbed some more. 

Armin’s own eyes welled up and his throat grew tight. He had liked and admired Eren’s father. Doctor Jaeger had been a patient father to Eren, he’d taken in Mikasa when she had nowhere to go, he’d treated many poor people in Shinganshina for free, he’d always answered Armin’s precocious questions with patience and good humor. Armin’s hands still shake when he thinks about the military policewoman in Trost, though he tries not to think about her anymore because he understands he did the right thing. How could someone live with the knowledge they’d killed a man the caliber of Grisha Jaeger? How could the man’s own son live with the knowledge he’d killed his father — _eaten_ his father? Even if it was what his father had led him to do? _Especially_ if it was what his father had led him to do?

Eventually Eren quiets to sniffles, and Armin stops crying as well. Not long after he hears footsteps, soft and stealthy, which come to a stop several meters away. He raises his head above Eren’s to see Marlo, a rifle over his shoulder, watching them with concern. Armin gives his head a brief shake. Marlo nods once and resumes his patrol.

Armin drops his head again. Eren is still clinging tightly to him as they lie on the cool ground. He listens to Eren’s slowing breaths and heartbeat, crickets in the grass around them, occasionally the cry of an owl.

Without warning, Eren pushes himself upward, takes Armin’s face in his hands, and brushes his lips against Armin’s. Armin pulls back, startled. They’ve been intimate from time to time, though there hasn’t been much time for it since the fall of Trost. But... now, while Eren walks through the darkest valley Armin can imagine? Here, from which they may all have to bolt again with no more than seconds of notice — or where they may have to make their last stand?

The look of hurt surprise on Eren’s face is worse than the awkwardness of the moment just past. “Eren—” But, other than speaking his name, Armin doesn’t quite know what to say.

“I…” Eren starts, then trails off, eyes darting away and down.

It’s hard to tell in the dark, but Armin is certain Eren is blushing. He clasps his hand and holds it to his own chest, despite his shirt being damp with tears. Eren looks back at him, moonlight catching in his glassy, widened eyes.

“What do you need, Eren?” Armin asks softly.

Eren takes a deep breath that hitches in a few spots. Then he says, “He… they… they put their hands on me. I can still feel their hands on me, Armin.” He pauses. “I want to feel your hands instead. And… I don’t know, your mouth too?” He laughs a nervous little laugh, like it’s the most ridiculous thing in the world to ask.

“Did they—” Armin breaks off, unable to finish the question. The feel of scaly hands on his own chest comes back to him, and he’s suddenly flooded with nausea and rage.

“No,” Eren says emphatically. “No. They didn’t do _that._ But… oh, fuck, Armin. They saw _inside my head._ They saw my dad say goodbye to me. They saw me eat him. They saw me crying and screaming over what was left of him. I… I, oh, God…” His voice is shaking again. Armin holds him tight, waits him out, until Eren is coherent again. “I know it’s not like… like what those animals were going to have done to Mikasa. Or even what that bastard in the warehouse did to you. But…” He trails off again.

Armin says nothing, trying to fathom that kind of violation. Anyone can get into your body, if you’re not strong enough and lucky enough. Everyone has a story or almost-story about that, their own or a friend’s, from the landfills and training and sometimes the regular military too. He never thought about someone getting inside his _mind,_ and he has to stop thinking about it because he can feel his hands beginning to shake again.

He’s not a Reiss who can take away people’s memories. But maybe he can bind up Eren’s and help them heal. Maybe heal. Someday.

“Take off your shirt,” he whispers.

Eren takes a deep, shuddering breath. Then he sits up and undoes the laces at his throat. As the shirt slips over his head, the moon outlines the swells and grooves of his arms and chest. A damp heat begins to gather low in Armin’s belly.

Whenever they’ve been together, Eren has always told him how beautiful he is. The compliment doesn’t sit well with Armin, but he’s aware it’s not just Eren’s opinion. Since the earliest days of training he’s gotten the attention of many other boys, occasionally girls, and far too many grown men. He’d rather be beautiful the way Eren is. Eren gets just as many looks, but fewer filthy insinuations or grasping hands. Eren is taller, Eren is broader, Eren is stronger — and, of course, he’s a monster, and that tends to discourage the predatory. Armin thinks he wouldn’t mind being a monster, too, if instead of beautiful and delicate he could be beautiful and strong. Or even just strong.

“How do you…” he starts, shy all of a sudden. Of course he’ll do this for Eren, but Eren has always taken the lead between the two of them.

Eren lets the shirt fall beside them, then stretches out on his belly, head turned to one side and arms folded under it. He shivers a little; the earth is chilled and the grass has started to gather dew. Armin thinks, though, that it’s got to be warmer and at least no damper than the cave he was in.

He takes a moment to gaze at Eren’s back. It’s not as dramatic and breathtaking as the front of him is, all sharply defined pecs and abs. But it’s a strong, graceful back, from the hard, round knolls of his shoulders inward and down. The hollow of his spine is flanked with long, lean muscle that Armin could imagine sprouting wings strong enough to grant Eren flight without Gear. He forces his eyes not to wander past the waistband of Eren’s trousers.

Eren turns his head a little, trying to look backward at Armin without changing position. Armin, realizing he needs to stop staring and take care of Eren, leans down and plants a soft, brushing kiss against the nape of Eren’s neck. Eren shivers and draws in his breath but says nothing.

“Like that?” Armin whispers.

Eren nods. “Yeah… that, that’s fine….”

His uncertainty, his awkwardness, pulls at a thread inside Armin and makes a tight, hard knot. He had no love for Rod Reiss before tonight, but now he hates the man for what he took from Eren. Which was nearly everything Eren had left. He wants to make a silent promise to kill Reiss for Eren, but it’d be ridiculous: Eren’s got much better odds than he does of accomplishing it. That is, if Levi or Hange or especially Mikasa doesn’t beat both of them to it.

Armin swings a leg over Eren’s waist and arranges his knees on either side of Eren so that they bear most of his own weight. He rests his hands on Eren’s shoulder muscles, gratified and heated by how they twitch at his touch. Soothingly he slides his palms back and forth over them, too lightly for it to be called a massage. Eren makes a low, soft hum, eyes fluttering shut. The sky is just pale enough that Armin can see the pulse jump in the side of his neck. He traces that spot with one finger, and Eren hums again, a little more deeply. Armin can feel it under his skin, vibrating in his throat.

“Where’d they touch your back, did you say?” he asks, not whispering now but voice very low.

“Over my shoulder blades,” Eren says, his own voice just as soft.

Armin lets his palms glide down from Eren’s shoulders until they’re on either side of his upper spine. Eren shudders underneath him and arches his back a little. Armin swallows. It’s not sex, or at least he’s pretty sure it’s not sex, but the same kind of heat ripples between his hands and Eren’s skin.

“Um… would it be okay if I lay down, make it easier to kiss you there? Would that be…” He’s not sure what word he wants.

“…too heavy?” Eren’s voice is a little on the rough side now. “I’ve carried you on my back before. You won’t break me.”

Armin flinches at the word _break_. “That’s not— I mean—”

“Armin.” A faint note of exasperation. Armin supposes he should be glad Eren is capable of annoyance right now. “Just go ahead.”

Slowly, Armin lowers himself, stretching out and easing backward. His legs are still taking most of his weight, but his chest rests on Eren’s lower back. He brings his hands up to Eren’s shoulders again and smooths them downward to his mid-spine, then up again. “Good?” he murmurs.

“Yeah.” Eren’s voice is choked again, but not with tears.

Armin slides his body forward, welcoming Eren’s solid warmth not only against his chest but his belly and upper thighs. He doesn’t think of the implications until he hears a soft huff and the words, tinged faintly with amusement: “‘Easier,’ huh?”

He straightens up, his face burning as if slapped. “Sorry. Should I get off?” There’s another huff, and Eren’s shoulders shake a little. “That’s not what I meant!” Armin exclaims.

“Yeah, I know,” Eren says, a shade more laughter than before in his voice. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t… Just, just go ahead and do what you were gonna do. Okay?”

“Okay,” Armin says. He registers that Eren can still laugh as well as get annoyed. There, too, is strength. He doesn’t care so much anymore that Eren was laughing at him.

Without removing his straps, he unbuttons his own shirt, then lowers his body again until his mostly bare chest is flush against the titan-hot skin of Eren’s back. It elicits a needy murmur from beneath him. Neither thinking nor not thinking about the swell of Eren’s backside pressed into his groin, he stretches out his arms, curling his hands around Eren’s shoulders. Wings, of a sort, until maybe Eren grows the real things someday. He brushes his lips again across Eren’s nape and the part of his back that’s just below. The hum from Eren this time sounds more like a moan.

Long minutes pass, unmoored from any sense of time, in which Armin mouths the skin of Eren’s neck and back. One moment he is gentle, the next moment a bit less; but he never ceases to be tender, to let the hums that have turned to whimpers guide him as he kisses and licks the flesh that was unnaturally violated. Gooseflesh rises on it, and Armin presses it down with his lips, once or twice turns his head to rub his still-smooth cheek against it. Eren begins to shudder hard under his weight, groaning, gasping. 

Abandoning thought for the guidance of the deepest part of his mind, Armin takes the skin of Eren’s nape in his teeth and delicately nips. With a long, low whine, Eren goes still and rigid, then trembles hard. A moment later he slumps boneless against the ground, panting. His face glimmers with sweat in the scant light.

Armin’s own breath, he realizes, is also uneven. Soothingly he chafes Eren’s shoulders and whispers, “All right?”

Eren shakily whispers back, “Yeah.” A few breaths later he adds, “Do you, um, did you want…”

Armin sighs. “No. That was for you.” He pushes himself off Eren’s back and falls into the grass next to him.

Eren looks at him for the first time in a while. His eyes are still haunted, but their wit has returned. “Are you sure?”

“You shouldn’t be worrying about anyone else right now,” Armin says with a frown. He starts to get up.

Eren looks incredulous. “Wait, where are you going?”

“To take care of the problem.”

“Oh, fuck _that._ “

Armin’s almost turned on his heel when Eren grabs his ankle and pulls that foot out from under him. He lets out a squeak of instinctual panic, but Eren catches him as he falls and pulls him hard against his own body again. Before Armin can protest, Eren has his belts and fly undone and a hand down his trousers and underwear. His powerful arm moves fast and without mercy or finesse. Within a few minutes Armin moans sharp and loud, shuddering in release.

He’s closing his eyes as Eren is turning to wipe his hand in the grass. He’s still panting when he feels Eren’s forehead press against his own, and he opens his eyes again. It’s just light enough to tell at this proximity from the muscles of Eren’s face that he’s smiling.

“You were gonna just go jerk off instead of letting me do it for you?”

Armin smiles, too, and brushes back a sweaty lick of Eren’s hair that’s fallen forward. “It would’ve been okay. Not as good, but okay.”

Eren kisses his mouth, softly and without need, then pulls back and says with distaste, “I came in my pants. It doesn’t feel so good now.”

It makes Armin laugh. “We could all use baths anyway,” he says.

Eren nods, then relaxes into the grass. As the light grows stronger, Armin can see the play of emotion in his eyes, the tenderness and humor dissolving again into grief and anxiety. He knew they would return, maybe even this soon. He’s done his best to salve that wound; he can salve it again, many times over. But it’s not his to heal.

There are faint noises from the cabin. Probably just a few people have begun to stir, but the rest will awaken soon. Armin rebuttons his shirt, and Eren takes that as a cue to pull his own back over his head. On his feet again, Armin stretches out his hand. No one can call himself a soldier who can’t pick himself up from the ground, but Eren’s broad brown hand closes around Armin’s slender pale one, and he lets Armin lift him up.


End file.
